Covet (17 page)

claire

The kids are upstairs taking showers and putting on their pajamas when Chris gets home a little after eight on a Friday night in mid-November.

“Hi,” he says. He shrugs out of his suit coat and drapes it over the back of a kitchen chair.

“Hi. How was your week?” I’m amazed at how formal our communication has become. I miss how easy it used to be to talk to Chris. Now our weekly debriefing sessions—filled with snippets of our workweek and what the kids are up to—are polite, sterile exchanges that are only slightly more passionate and significant than discussing the weather. Gone are the days when we sat down and ate dinner as a family, listening as the kids shared the highlights of their day. And then after, when the kids were asleep, back when Chris worked for only an hour or so in the evening, we’d go to bed and share different things with each other.

“Busy,” he says. “We’re still understaffed, in the field and at headquarters.” Another by-product of the recession: companies trying to make do with as few resources on the payroll as they can get by with, which means it’s the employees who must pick up the slack. “But I closed every sale I was working on.” Chris smiles, and vibrates with an energy I haven’t seen in a while. He looks good. Tired, but good. No longer underweight, he’s filling out his shirt nicely thanks to the workouts he told me he was squeezing in at the hotel fitness centers. “It makes me feel better,” he said. “Relieves a little of my stress.”

He reaches into the refrigerator and grabs a beer.

“Congratulations,” I say, and I mean it. I finish loading the dishwasher and then fill the coffeepot with water and fresh grounds, setting the timer so it will brew automatically the next morning.

He opens the beer and takes a long drink. “Thanks.”

I yell upstairs to the kids. “Hey, guys, Dad’s home.” Jordan comes tearing down the stairs, hair wet, wearing her Hello Kitty nightgown, and launches herself into his arms. We’ll have trouble getting her to bed tonight. Her requests for one more book and for Chris to stay with her until she falls asleep will continue until I finally go in and play the heavy, which will leave me feeling drained and sad. She misses him. Why wouldn’t she? Jordan fires off a stream-of-consciousness-style recap of her entire week, barely stopping to take a breath, and Chris listens attentively. They relocate to the couch and Jordan snuggles up close. I smile when he kisses the top of her head.

Josh hasn’t come downstairs, so I go up to see what’s taking him so long. He’s sitting on his bed, halfheartedly strumming his guitar. “Hey, buddy. Dad’s home. Aren’t you coming downstairs?”

“Yeah,” he says, without enthusiasm.

I sit down next to him on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” he says. I wait patiently, to see if I can coax a bit more out of him by not pushing. He strums a few more times and then puts down the guitar. “It’s just that Jordan won’t shut up long enough to let me talk to Dad. And he’s just gonna leave again anyway.”

“He’ll be home all weekend,” I point out.

“Yeah, working.”

This isn’t really fair, because Chris tries hard to make sure he spends plenty of time with the kids, and Josh knows it. My belief is that his attitude stems more from his overall frustration at having one of his parents unavailable five nights out of seven than any real sense of injustice. I feel his pain.

“Come on down,” I say. “Dad wants to see you. He misses you guys a lot.”

“Okay,” he says, finally acquiescing. “But tell Jordan I get a turn.”

I ruffle his hair. “I will. I promise.” He follows me down the stairs. When Chris looks up and opens his arms, Josh goes to him, and watching them embrace puts a smile on my face. I will never say that Chris doesn’t love his children with his whole heart. He does.

After we put the kids to bed Chris goes into the office and shuts the door. I read a book on the couch with Tucker curled up next to me. An hour later I finish my book, but I don’t really feel like starting a new one. I peruse the movies in our extensive DVD collection instead. I’m not in the mood for anything violent, but Chris isn’t really a fan of chick flicks, so I compromise with
Up in the Air
. I’ve already watched it, more than once in fact, but George Clooney stars in it and I never get tired of him. I poke my head into the office.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” I ask, hoping he’ll be willing to take a break.

“Sure. Go ahead and pick one.”

“I already did,” I say, holding up the case.

He doesn’t respond.

“Chris?”

He finally stops typing and looks up. “Sure. Go ahead and start it. I’ll be out in a minute.”

I pop the disk into the DVD player and sit down on the couch. We used to watch movies all the time, snuggled under the same blanket. Sometimes I’d fall asleep, my head in Chris’s lap.

I sit through several previews but they end and the movie starts. I’m still waiting for Chris to join me forty-five minutes later. I click off the DVD player and the TV.

“I’m tired,” I say when I poke my head into the office. “I’m going to bed.”

“You are?” Chris asks, without looking up from his computer. It’s as if he’s fallen into an alternate reality, and I’m surprised he even heard me. “I thought we were going to watch a movie?”

“Yeah, me, too. Maybe some other night.”

In our bedroom, I strip off my clothes and put on my pajamas. After I brush my teeth and wash my face I slide underneath the covers. There’s nothing on TV when I click through the channels, and I don’t feel like walking back downstairs to find another book. Strangely, I’m both tired
and
restless. And bored. I shut off the lamp and lie there in the dark. It’s almost ten thirty, but I grab my phone from the nightstand and call Daniel. I haven’t heard from him since I received his last text a few hours earlier.

He answers on the third ring. “Claire?”

I can hardly hear him over the noise in the background. “Where are you?” I ask.

“Out with the guys. We’re watching the game.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Before I can hang up he says, “No. Just give me a second.” A minute later the noise disappears, save for the occasional sound of a car honking its horn.

“Are you outside?”

“Yes. Couldn’t hear you in there.”

“It’s cold out.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“I don’t want to interrupt your evening. Go back to your friends.”

“It’s no big deal. What are you doing?”

“I’m lying in bed.” I didn’t think before I spoke and now that the words are out of my mouth, I realize they sounded more suggestive than I intended them to.

“Oh?” he says. “Tell me more.”

Suddenly, I’m not so bored.

This is very different in context and tone from anything Daniel has ever said to me in person. I don’t think he’s drunk, but there’s a slightly flirtatious lilt to his words that tells me he’s had a few.

“I’m just tired. But now I can’t sleep.” It’s very difficult not to imagine Daniel here in this bed with me. Holding me close. Touching my skin. His lips on mine. I tell myself that it’s okay to imagine. These are my thoughts and they won’t hurt anything. It’s no different than thinking about George Clooney.

Except that I’m not on the phone with George Clooney.

“Is he home?” He rarely mentions Chris by name.

“Yes. He’s downstairs, working.”

“And you’re lying there? In the dark?”

My body temperature rises when he says those words. I’m fairly certain that Daniel is now imagining scenarios of his own, which means that we have just skated into very unfamiliar territory. “Yes.”

“You told me, the night I changed your tire, that you were lonely. Are you always lonely?”

“Not always.”

“But a lot of the time?”

“Yes.” I know I shouldn’t be saying any of this, shouldn’t be encouraging him. But I don’t care. At this moment I want to be selfish. I want to think things I shouldn’t and say them out loud.

He’s stronger than I am, though, because he says, “I need to hang up before I say something I can’t take back. Something you may not want to hear,” he adds, and the sound of his voice, loaded with things unsaid, nearly sends me over the edge.

Every nerve ending in my body is on fire. “Okay. Go back to your friends.”

“Good night, Claire. Sleep tight.”

“Good night.”

I set the phone on the nightstand and take a deep breath. There’s a man downstairs who has every right to be in this bed with me, but he isn’t interested. And there’s a man who doesn’t have any right at all, yet he sounds as though he’d give just about anything for the opportunity.

I have never felt more alone.

chris

I fly home from Utah late on Wednesday night. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Claire and I alternate whose family we celebrate with and this year it’s hers. Frankly, I’m glad. My parents try to pack my siblings, their spouses, all the grandkids, and various assorted relatives into their small two-story house and by the end of the day I usually have a raging headache. It’s much quieter and calmer when we celebrate with Claire’s family.

She’s taking a pie out of the oven when I walk in the door a little after 11:00
P.M
. My house smells a hell of a lot better than any of the hotel rooms I stay in, and now that I’m sleeping better I miss my bed when I’m away. I can’t believe how many months I wasted sleeping on the couch.

I watch as Claire sets the pie on a wire rack. She’s wearing her hair in a ponytail and a few strands have escaped. I suddenly have the urge to tuck them behind her ears, so I set down my laptop and suitcase and walk to where she’s standing.

“Hi,” she says, reaching over to turn off the oven.

“Hi,” I say.

She picks up a casserole dish from the counter and steps around me, like I’m in her way.

“Can I help you with anything?” I ask.

She puts the casserole in the fridge. “No thanks.” Exhaling, she says, “I’m almost done.”

Sometimes I forget how busy she is, holding down the fort at home. She’s got her own work, the kids, and the house. Just because she makes it look easy doesn’t mean it is. She’s wearing a pair of pink flannel pajama pants with white snowflakes on them. Her pink cotton long-sleeved T-shirt is just snug enough that I can see the outline of her breasts. I take off my jacket and think about how nice it will be to sleep in my own bed tonight, next to Claire. Spend the day with her and the kids tomorrow. Just knowing that most of the country will be taking the day off and that I can get away without working at all if I want to has put me in a good mood. “Do you want to watch a movie, or something?”

“No,” she says. “I’m exhausted. I’ve been baking and cooking and trying to keep the kids from bouncing off the walls all day. I’m going to bed.”

“Okay. Good night.” I want to kiss her, even if it’s just a quick peck before she goes to bed, but I’m not fast enough, because before I can even reach out for her, she’s gone, grabbing her phone and walking toward the stairs without a backward glance.

claire

I’m lying in bed waiting for Daniel’s call. Chris’s request to watch a movie together caught me off guard, and I feel some remorse for saying no. It’s what I’ve been yearning for. Spending time with him would have been the right thing to do, but I’m not that eager to fulfill his request. Not out of spite. Not out of any sense of retaliation. I simply don’t want to watch a movie. I’m tired and I’d rather stretch out under the covers of my warm bed and talk to Daniel. He texted earlier.
Can I call you tonight? Late?
I texted back.
Yes.
It’s all I’ve been able to think about.

We never discussed the things he said on the phone the night I called him when he was out with the guys. I thought it might be weird the next time I saw him, but I didn’t say anything and neither did he. We simply acted as if the whole thing never happened. And I certainly didn’t mention it to Elisa when she asked if I’d talked to Daniel recently. I was certain she’d warn me to be careful. Tell me I was heading toward the deep end.

I’ve always been careful, but I wouldn’t mind being a little
less
careful.

Then, about a week later, he called me. It was late and I’d been watching a movie in bed. When my phone rang I answered it and without preamble he said, “Are you in bed?”

I knew instantly that we were back on that unfamiliar ground, and a ripple of excitement washed over me. I reveled in the anticipation, wondering what he might say. “Yes,” I said.

“Were you sleeping?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“How was your day?” I pictured him settling in for a long conversation, maybe lying in bed the way I was.

“Uneventful. How was yours? Did you help your friend move?” Daniel didn’t have to work that day, but he’d volunteered to help one of his fellow officers move into a new home.

“Yes. My back is killing me. He had the heaviest furniture I’ve ever carried. I need a massage. Know anyone who’s good at them?” I could tell by his suggestive tone that he wouldn’t mind if I was the one who rubbed him down.

“I’ve got a guy, actually,” I said. “Just let me know if you want his number.”

“You have a guy?” His voice had taken on a very different tone when he asked that question. Flirty to curious in less than ten seconds.

“Oh, relax. Walt doesn’t give happy endings. Not like my neighbor Julia’s guy.”

“Julia has a guy, too? She told you he gives her happy endings?”

“No, she
didn’t
tell me. And then I went to him when Walt was on vacation. That was the problem.”

“Are you saying her guy got you off?” By that point Daniel just sounded pissed.

“No! I flew off the table as soon as he touched me.”

“He touched you?”

“Just barely.”

“Where?”

“Well, it wasn’t my back.”

“I will shut them down tomorrow, Claire.”

“Don’t, please. It was an epic miscommunication. He stopped immediately and apologized profusely. Besides, you and I both know this probably goes on all the time.”

“It’s illegal.”

“I know that. But there are women who seek it out and there will always be someone willing to give it to them. Julia’s guy is putting himself through college by giving the big O to any woman who wants one.”

“Did you entertain the possibility of letting him give you one, even for a second?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Why?”

I answered Daniel honestly. “Because he was just some guy I didn’t know.”

Daniel and I never got back on track after that and we hung up a short time later. I’m guessing he was as unsatisfied by the conversation as I was. Maybe tonight will be different.

He calls a little after eleven. I put my phone on vibrate so Chris wouldn’t hear it ring if he happened to come upstairs.

“Can you still talk?” He speaks softly and I wonder if he’s in bed or lying on the couch.

“I can talk,” I say.

“Is he home?”

“Yeah. But it’s okay.” Once I declined his offer to watch a movie Chris probably opened his laptop and started working. Who knows when he’ll make it upstairs?

“How was your day?” Daniel asks.

“Busy.”

“Did you get everything done?”

“Yep. I finished the last pie an hour ago.”

“Did you stay inside?”

“Yes. The kids wanted to go to the mall to see Santa, but it was so cold and dreary that I just couldn’t do it. I paid for it, though. They had a raging case of cabin fever.”

“But you’re warm now,” he says.

“Yes. Definitely,” I murmur, certain he can hear the change in my voice, the timbre of my words as they roll slowly off my tongue. “What about you?” I ask.

He chuckles softly. “I’m nowhere near as hot as you.”

“I beg to differ,” I say, wondering if we’re going to speak in double entendres the whole conversation and not minding a bit if we do.

“What are you wearing that’s keeping you so warm? Or not wearing,” he asks, laughing. “I really have no idea.”

“Flannel pajama pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Nothing that you or any man would find remotely interesting, I’m afraid.” I often wore lingerie for Chris, but the opportunity hadn’t presented itself in a very long time. “The last time I checked, the Victoria’s Secret models weren’t covered in cotton from head to toe. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“That’s okay,” he says. “In my head you’re wearing something entirely different.”

My heart rate speeds up a bit. “Sounds like you have a preference in women’s lingerie.” Chris has always been partial to black silk chemises.

“Not really. It’s nice, don’t get me wrong, but there’s something I like even better. Call me a minimalist.”

Now all I can think about is being naked. And I’m pretty sure that’s all Daniel’s thinking about, too.

Suddenly, I wouldn’t
mind
being naked.

But I’m not at all comfortable with taking this much further, because I don’t think Daniel and I could ignore it the next time we’re together. And I like this tension we’re building; I don’t want to release it yet. “See? You do have a preference,” I say, hoping the light, teasing tone of my voice is enough to bring us back from the edge a bit.

He just laughs and says, “I do, indeed. I also like women with blonde hair and brown eyes, who eat turkey and Swiss sandwiches and wear way too many layers of clothing because they’re cold all the time.”

“You can’t see me, but I’m smiling.”

“I wish I could see you,” he says. “Will he? Later?”

I hear the longing in his voice, and I want to tell him he has nothing to worry about. But some things are just off-limits, and the intimacy issues that Chris and I have are between us and no one else. “No,” I say. “I’m tired. I’ll be asleep long before he comes up.”

“I don’t understand that.”

“I know.”

“I should let you go,” he says.

I suppose that’s one way to ensure that I really am asleep before Chris comes upstairs.

“Sweet dreams.”

“You, too. Bye, Daniel.”

I don’t fall asleep right away, though. Mostly because I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to make love with Daniel.